Luke's Diary: An Unlucky Man in a Zombie Apocalypse. Days 201-400

Day 232: Saturday 15th April 2017 23:58

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Day 232
Saturday 15th April 2017 23:58

What a traumatic day. There's been six deaths!

The day started out quite mundane. Over the public address system, Dump announced that today was his wife's birthday and that everyone at Dumpville was invited to Triton's for a party. As much as I can't stand being around the Dumps, I thought a party sounded like fun. Just the sort of thing that could cheer us up.

After speaking with Naomi and DeShawn yesterday, I decided to try and chat to some of the other residents about Luke H and Imran and this Hank person. I ended up talking to an elderly woman called Deidre who could hardly hear a word I said and misheard half of the stuff that came out of my mouth. I introduced myself to her as the complaints manager and said if there was ever anything I could do, she could come and see me over at the main building. Deidre told me she'd been at Dumpville since all the "trouble" started. "Do you remember a man called Luke Holliday?" I asked. "Luke on holiday?" asked Deirdre, "No sweetheart. This isn't a holiday. It's a holiday camp. You're getting confused." "No, I know it's a holiday camp," I said, "But do you remember Luke Holliday or Imran?" "An Imam?" said Deirdre, "That's some sort of Islamic leader isn't it? I don't think we have any of them round here." "Oh for God's sake," I said under my breath, quickly becoming impatient. Mind you, I don't know why I said it under my breath. The deaf old cow wouldn't have heard anything if I'd have grabbed a megaphone and shouted in her ear. "OK," I said, slightly raising my voice, "Do you know Hank?" "Who, dear?" asked Deirdre, leaning in closer. "Hank!" I loudly said, "Hank, Hank, Hank." "Honk, honk, honk?" queried Deirdre, "That's the noise a car horn makes. I used to have a lovely little car when I was married. It was a Ford Cortina. My husband bought it for me for our wedding anniversary. A bit silly really. I can't drive. It just sat in the garage collecting dust. Mind you it was a lovely little car." "I'm trying to talk to you!" I said with an even louder tone. "You're trying to walk to Crewe?" said Deirdre, sounding confused, "That's a little marker town in Cheshire. It'll take you a while to walk there. Are you being sponsored for something? If I had any more I'd give you 50p, dearie." "I'm not being sponsored!" I shouted. "Oh, so you're doing it for no money at all," said Deirdre, "Very noble." "OK," I said, desperately trying to get something useful out of the old crow, "Let's try again." "Let's buy a pen?" said Deirdre, "I've got a pen you can have." Deirdre opened her handbag and produced handkerchiefs, a vast array of tablets and medications, a bingo dabber, for some reason a sink plunger and surprisingly, a gun. I looked at Deirdre, who quickly put the gun back in her bag. "Oh dear," she said, "You weren't supposed to see that. There's your pen dearie." Deirdre handed me the biro. "Guns aren't allowed in here," I said, sounding shocked. "Well we live in a dangerous world," said Deirdre, "This helps me feel safe. I can't remember how I got it, now I come to think about. I haven't had to use it but you never know. Better safe than sorry. Anyway, no one knows I have it so you need to shush." "Mum's the word," I said. "Your Mum's abroad," said Deirdre, "Lovely. Is she anywhere nice? Is that why you want the pen? You going to try and write her a letter?" I clearly wasn't going to get anywhere with the deaf, mixed up, gun wielding old codger. "I'm off to get some food," I said, "Dinner! Dinner! Dinner." "That sounds like the Batman theme tune," said Deirdre. "Dinner. Lunch. Food. Eat," I loudly said. "Ooooh," said Deirdre, "What are you going to eat?" "Jacket potatoes," I said. "A sack of potatoes?" said Deirdre, sounding worried, "That doesn't sound very good. Very stodgy on your stomach. I'd have a jacket potato if I were you." I couldn't carry on talking to this woman. It was far too much hard work. Just my luck that the first person I try and find information out about Hank from, is a deaf old bat that can't hear or understand a word I say.

I spoke to Naomi and DeShawn. I told them that the only person I managed to speak to was a deaf old woman but that she had a gun in her bag. "God," said Naomi, "Secret guns in Dump's house, secret guns in pensioner's handbags. I feel like we're the only ones around here without guns." DeShawn said no one really wanted to speak to him and that he thought people were scared of him. Naomi said the people she spoke to responded with suspicion and asked her why she was asking so many questions, and others were reluctant to talk. All of this makes me feel even more certain that something is being hidden. Why aren't people talking to us and sharing information? Maybe we need to try and talk to different people tomorrow.